


are you bleeding? (are you bruised? are you broken?)

by hambamthankyoumaam (Random13245)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (its jamilton that's messed up whoops), (lams is really really lightly implied), (the focus is Alexander's and Thomas's relationship), Abusive Relationships, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 05:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10802694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random13245/pseuds/hambamthankyoumaam
Summary: based of tfr's writing prompt #103 mixed with this prompt from Reddit https://amp.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/23pomt/wp_describe_the_same_character_twice_once_to_fall/"What are you so afraid of?""You."and; Describe the same character twice. Once to fall in love with them, then again to be repulsed by them.





	are you bleeding? (are you bruised? are you broken?)

**Author's Note:**

> whoops my finger slipped and wrote 1k of this unrelated little poetic bullshit story ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“What are you so afraid of?”

“You.”

* * *

 He was beautiful. He was light, air, wherever he was, there was music. He was the color blue, but not the cliche sky blue, the deep, rich navy blue that felt warm and strong. He was tall, so tall, as if heaven just wanted him closer by, his beauty seen ( maybe even given to him) by angels. And Alexander loved him.

His name was Thomas ( _Thomas, Thomas,_ Alexander repeats the name to himself).Thomas wore his hair in a massive afro, his curls coming alive around his face. He reminded Alexander of warm sunny days in the light summer sun, of picnics on soft grass with bare feet and the perfect amount of shade. Of places where the sun poked through tree limbs, the small sunspots that blessed the ground.

Thomas’s eyes sparkled. They were deep, deep brown, golden, flecks of green. They made Alexander think of ponds covered in duckweed, lily pads, and the walking trail that follows a river.

His personality was bike rides in the summer nights. The moon setting slowly over the sound of chains clicking, making the wheels turn and propelling the rider forward. Gentle and relaxing, but yet spontaneous still.

His voice was warm honey dripping over cold ice cream, melting in the summer sun (everything about him seemed to lead back to summer, it was always summer. Spring was too wet, winter too cold, and autumn too chaotic).

He liked dandelions. He could never seem to find the right words for _why_ he liked them so much, as they were weeds, Alexander pointed out. But he liked them. He loved other flowers, too, but the yellow weed held his interest the most.

Alexander would weave the weeds together to make a crown and place it upon his massive curls. The image of him with the dandelions in his hair was forever in Alexander’s memory (burned, scarred, healed).

In his best words, he once said; _Dandelions are survivors. No matter what- they take what they need. They live, even if at the expense of others._ Looking back, Alexander realized much later he how obviously this should've been a warning sign, but somehow, it wasn't.

He liked forget-me-nots and would weave them into Alexander’s hair and say; _Never forget me._ It had seemed romantic. Alexander would always respond in kind with; _Never._

He would always pick up roses, purposefully running his own fingers over the thorns. He didn't like roses, and Alexander had asked only once why he would touch the thorns if it hurt, why he would always pick roses if he hated them.

 _Oh, no. I don't hate roses. In fact, I love them. Love isn't always fun, Alexander, sometimes it hurts._ And he ran his fingers once more over the thorns, this time drawing a tiny droplet of blood from his fingertip, which he licked off. Alexander recognized a tiny plume of fear building in his chest. But he stamped it out, told himself that Thomas loved him, wouldn't hurt him like rose thorns.

* * *

 “What are you so afraid of?”

“You.”

* * *

 He was ugly. He was storms, late night depression, and moments of darkness. He was angry, loud, like thunder. Sometimes he reminded Alexander of the hurricane, destructive and massive.

He swung, he hit. A solid _smack_ echoed through the house (the hollow, empty house, no one had called it ‘home’ for a very long time). Alexander felt it, as if his hand was imprinted upon his cheek, settled under his skin.

He apologized, and Alexander readily accepted. He didn't want to accept that anything was wrong, so as soon as he had the opportunity to pretend it didn't happen, he took it.

He wondered, idly, which of them was truly unstable. The one throwing the punches or the one taking any chance to act as if it didn't happen (the one who can't cope, or maybe the one who still hopes)? Alexander clung to his memories of better days with Thomas (of forget-me-nots and dandelions, of roses and thorns) and pretended life was still the same (it wasn't).

It wasn't the same, it wasn't going to get better. In fact it got worse (so much worse, worse than Alexander had thought it could even get). He learned how to hide bruises, he mastered the art of faking self-injury. Friends would ask about the bruises, cuts, scrapes ( _Alexander, what happened to you? Are you okay?_ ) and he would already have a story ready ( _I fell down the stairs, I walked into a door, I bumped my head getting in the car_ ). They believed him, but their belief could only go so far.

Their belief ended where Thomas’s possessiveness began. For someone who called Alexander worthless, he seemed obsessed with his safety. Or rather, that he was always within his sight. Alexander wasn't allowed to go out with friends without Thomas ( _I’d like a night alone, babe._ and the ensuing _No, I have to come with you._ ).

They noticed this new development (how could they not, how could they not) and addressed it (to Thomas’s face, despite Alexander’s protest and pleads. They didn't know what they were doing). This only served to anger Thomas (like a beast, an angry wild animal who could set off at any moment) and Alexander came back after that altercation with even more hard-to-explain bruises.

Ultimately, it was his friends who saved him. Though in his mind all he saw was them ruining things (his relationship was _fine_ , he was fine as long as they didn't prod), they were ruining everything in the right ways.

One night, after a particularly violent outburst, Alexander had had enough. He stormed out, feeling like he was now the hurricane (he was death, destruction, decay). He ran to his closest friend (John, John, it was always John who was there to collect him) and collapsed into his arms.

_You're not going back, Alexander._

That couldn't happen, though. Alexander knew he had to return, he had to, he loved Thomas (he couldn't live without him, and vice versa). But despite the screaming in his head to say, no, I have to go back, he simply replied.

_Okay._

**Author's Note:**

> (brownie points if you caught the next to normal references)


End file.
